


Oh Lazarus (How did your debts get paid?)

by ElectraRhodes



Series: Delighting in Your Radiance 2017 [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plan B, Post TWOTL, Reckoning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 15:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12390549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes
Summary: Over the cliff and into the sea. They both survive the fall and the brine rich waves but can Hannibal survive Will's reckoning?A post-twotl season 4 story, where not everything is what it seems.





	Oh Lazarus (How did your debts get paid?)

**Author's Note:**

> The fifth of fifteen (omgg) new stories for those wonderful people who backed the Radiance Kickstarter 'Delight' Level. Thank you!! The stories are all linked, so if you fancy it you can subscribe to the whole series and as each one posts they'll just turn up in your in-box! Easy. 
> 
> There's a range of styles (fluff, humour, horror, fantasy, and trope), seasons (1,2,3 and post TWOTL, and SOTL too), canon compliant and AU (can we say coffee shop?), favourites (souls marks, ABO), and lots of wonderful characters (at least two Wendigos). 
> 
> Each backer bid for a minimum of 1000 words of fic. Of course the prompts are just too good to only give them 1000 words. Bring the noise! This one has eight chapters.
> 
> Based off a wonderful prompt from someone whose AO3 name is still in the post... I'll update this bit as soon as I have it. I hope I do the prompt justice.
> 
> If you're reading The Lighthouse this could be what happened if things had turned out just a little different...

The heart monitor beeps just out of synch with the music being piped into the hospital room. The sounds separately would be irritation enough, but together Hannibal finds them almost intolerable. He wonders if the aural assault on his senses is deliberate. He wouldn’t put it past Jack Crawford or whoever is running the case. The shackles surrounding his wrists and ankles bite. Not much. But they are tight enough for him to be aware of the steel circles clamped down as sharp and greedy as the jaws of a trap.

His lucidity and consciousness have been slowly returning over the last three days. The ache in his gut tells him there’s been some kind of surgical intervention and he is faintly amused to consider that he and Will may have matching scars now. And it appears that the dragon’s shot must have been both a through and through and that it must have missed everything vital on its pathway. Perhaps though he might have lost something smaller. Like a spleen. 

A spleen. He smiles. Not much to be done with a spleen, except in a pate perhaps.

Whatever he has lost, it might not be limited to the purely physical, he has no memory of what happened when they hit the water and no recollection at all of what happened to Will afterwards. Or indeed to Chiyoh, if she was there and waiting for them.

It seems as though someone must have been waiting for them. Hence the hospital room and the unequivocal manacling. Whoever is in charge of his recovery hasn’t gone as far as a face mask, but the intubation tube is an almost effective substitute. So far he has managed not to struggle against it, and this just requires a certain discipline of will. And for the most part he would have said that was something in which he is not usually in short supply.

Despite this high tolerance threshold for uncertainty he does find himself at a loss. Along with the sharp chasm in his memories, up to the cliff edge and over and then nothing, he has no conception of how long he has been here. None at all. And he isn’t entirely sure if anyone will tell him. Perhaps it is part of the reason he is making no specific effort to alert anyone to his newly awakened state. 

After all, and against what he thought were unbeatable odds, he has been caught a second time. Though Will’s point holds true, he wasn’t caught that first time, he surrendered. Still, lying here, chained and muted, the distinction is moot. He has been landed.

......................................

Will lies in a narrow and starched hospital bed and lets the conversation between Molly and Jack wash over him. Everyone has been, he searches for the word, ‘nice’. Nice. That’s as close as he can get to it. Brian Zeller even brought flowers and Jimmy has been in to chat to him. Will hoped he’d said nothing to unfriendly. Of all of them Jimmy was, still is, the most decent. Though the flowers from Brian were a surprise that Will isn’t examining too closely just yet. And of course Jack has been in to wring his hands and apologise and also maunder on about some guy down in Ohio taking women. Will isn’t interested in any of it. Or any of them. 

Alana has been in too. On her own though, no sign of Margot or their son. Still, he considers, that could have been beyond awkward. 

What’s even more awkward, to his mind, is that he hasn’t yet found a way to ask about Hannibal, or about Chiyoh. Something, somewhere, somehow, it all went horribly wrong. Or some key parts of this bit of the plan did, such as it was. It must have done as he’s here now and everyone is being so damn nice to him.

Molly too. She’s being as sweet and kind and gentle as ever. It makes him feel a little ill. He knows that he absolutely doesn’t deserve it in the slightest. He hiccoughs down a laugh, thinks back to the last conversation they’d had on the phone about the damn dog. Randy. And Will had been filled with an urge to say something unforgiveable like ‘ oh yeah, same as that I guy I killed that Hannibal sent after me?’ he hadn’t though. Of course not, he hadn’t lost control of the plot even then, or even when Hannibal did send Randall Tier after him.

And now? He still hasn’t lost the plot at all. And is hyper-aware that for a while there he was running two stories in parallel; the loving husband/good former FBI agent come back to rid the world of yet another serial killer or two; and the finally emerged imago ready to take his place alongside what he can only describe as his soul-mate.

He’s tried for a better description, or a better name for Hannibal, but he thinks of that quote, ‘What’s the difference between the love of your life, and your soul-mate? One is a choice, and one is not.’ So, in his head at least, that’s how he thinks of him now. If he’s still alive. And if he’s not? Will wont countenance that thought, not after everything. Hannibal has to be alive, he has to be. And maybe he got away?

He listens a bit closer to Jack.

“They say he can be discharged, but I’d like to keep him close by for a time at least.”

And Molly is nodding. Will doesn’t understand it. Why on earth would she agree to anything Jack says? Hasn’t this been a fiasco? Unless? Well, unless she sees it as some kind of resolution. The end of something. And the beginning of something new. it's that all right she just doesn't know it. He makes a small noise and she turns at it,

“Hey. Hey Will. How are you doing? How’s the head?”

He doesn’t reach up to touch the bandage on his face, he knows he’s already had surgery on the scar. Molly had explained. She signed off on it whilst he was still unconscious. He’s not entirely sure how he feels about that if he’s honest. His shoulder he knows, is now absolutely fucked. One of the doctors tried to explain that even with extensive physical therapy it’s unlikely that he’ll get full mobility back, there’s been just too much damage done now. He’d wanted to snirk, he’s been stabbed twice and shot twice and on top of that he’d then broken it in the fall. Full mobility? He is amazed it’s still actually attached to his body at all.

He mentally catalogues everything he broke in the fall. After the first eight fractures he gives up. What’s the point? Most of them are mended now. Instead he comes back to what Molly is saying,

“So, maybe whilst Wally is with my parents we could find a place nearer to Quantico. Jack says they’ll give you back your old teaching spot. The Assistant Director is talking about a commendation Will. Everyone’s proud of you, Dolarhyde dead and Lecter back where he belongs.. you’re a hero Will..”

She carries on talking but everything is drowned out then, by the fireworks going off in his head. Hannibal is alive. He’s alive. 

And nothing else matters at all.

Plan B it is then.  
..................................................

Jack looks down at his erstwhile friend,

“I know you’re awake Dr Lecter. I’ve got someone coming to remove the tubing. And then? Well, I’ve got some questions for you.”

Hannibal opens his eyes and blinks lazily at Jack. And is rather delighted that Jack Crawford looks simply incensed by it. He must be, because he can’t stop himself from saying,

“That woman? The woman from Florence? Your cousin? Something? We’ve got her Hannibal. We’ve damn well got her. You thought you’d won didn’t you? You thought you’d finally won. Let me tell you, no matter what you thought, or what you still think, Will has always, always, been my man.”

Hannibal blinks at him some more. Not only because that is pretty well all he can do, but because Jack has almost always felt compelled to fill silences and empty spaces. Not always immediately, but eventually, and frankly Hannibal isn’t going anywhere. He can wait. And just possibly Jack will tell him something useful. Though the news about Chiyoh is unfortunate.

And the suggestion about Will’s complicity? Worse. If Hannibal believed it.

“Yes. Will Graham? Over the edge Hannibal. Will thought he might not be able to save himself, and he was willing to take that risk. He’ll get a commendation for what he did. I’ve talked to his wife Hannibal, the one you failed to get killed. She says he planned it all out, worked out how to lure you in once again. A reckoning of a sort. Finally.”

Jack nods his head a few times, looking satisfied for once. And Hannibal simply carries on looking back at Jack as an unhappy looking nurse comes in with two uniformed police officers. There is a certain amount of rough housing to remove the tube from his throat though Hannibal doesn’t resist. He’s not entirely sure he has the wherewithal to do so anyway. And it’s far better to save the little energy he does have.

Jack leans over him and despite his previous thoughts Hannibal is tempted to snap his jaws at him, just to get a reaction. Though the reaction he’s been getting so far is more than satisfactory. And he hasn’t even said a word yet. Time to up the ante a little,

“Hello Jack.”

It’s barely more than a croak and it doesn’t look like Jack Crawford’s going to be feeding him ice chips anytime soon, but if he wants a conversation it’s going to take something.

“Water.”

Jack glares at him, but he gets the point. He leaves the room and comes back a few minutes later with the same nurse, who looks even more reluctant than before. The water is a little stale, as though it’s been sitting in a carafe or glass for too long but it’s a welcome relief to the parched desert that is Hannibal’s mouth. He manages a small nod of thanks to the nurse who looks both relieved to get away in one piece and also surprised at the small courtesy.

Jack draws up a chair and sits down. He looks tired. Still, that isn’t so surprising, the paper-work created by the operation and the multiple deaths must have been a nightmare. Even with the dragon dead in the halls of the FBI this must be regarded as something of a fiasco. He gives Freddie Lounds the briefest of thoughts and wonders about her headlines. Especially now that he has been caught again.

“How long Jack?”

Jack smirks,

“Four months.”

He is a little dismayed by the news, but, at the same time it explains so much; why he feels so weak; why his strength has ebbed; why his gut though tender isn’t a screaming mess; and why everything else might feel flabby but it does feel whole.

“Yeah.” Jack manages, ‘You’re pretty well on the mend. The doctors have been expecting you to wake up for the last week or so. They put you into a medically induced coma, to deal with the brain swelling. And that was on account of the bad concussion. But, so far at least, they think that maybe there isn’t any permanent damage. Which, I can’t help but think, is a bit of a shame.”

Hannibal smiles a small sardonic slice of lips,

“Oh Jack, really, don’t you think that’s beneath you?”

Jack doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead he huffs a little and leans forward.

“Guess what’s next Hannibal? A bit of physical therapy and then back to the BSHCI. I can promise you Dr Verger-Bloom is looking forwards to it.”

Hannibal ignores the cheap jibe,

“And Will?”

Jack scoffs,

“And now you’re concerned for Will? Too late for that.”

Hannibal looks at him, and for all his experience with Jack he just can’t read the answer he craves off his face.

............................................

Will has now made it as far as actually sitting up in bed, staying awake through most of a ten minute conversation, and today has finally managed to stand on his own feet without the aid of a nurse or Molly for a whole thirty seconds. He considers each of them to be small triumphs. Now though? He’d much rather go back to sleep, though Jimmy is once again making nice so maybe he can use this opportunity, just a little,

“Jimmy? No one has said? What really happened that night?”

Jimmy looks at him,

“Oh well. They’ll take your statement I expect.”

Will shrugs,

“Ok. I’m expecting that. But honestly? After the cliff there’s a big old gap, right up until I woke up here.”

Jimmy chews a little on his lip, and Will, god help him isn’t beyond abusing that just a little,

“Jims? Help me out here. I honestly have no clue and that’s what I’ll say in my statement. The story stops at the top of that cliff.”

Jimmy sort of wobbles his head indecisively. Will has seen him debate this kind of thing to himself before and he can see him running ideas over in his head. He lets it play out, there’s nothing to be gained by badgering him,

“All right then. We picked you up out of the water, and Dr Lecter too. He was in worse shape than you overall. Gun-shot wound?”

Will nods, he remembers that bit well enough.

“Ok then. He’s had surgery, and has been in a medically induced coma for some brain injury. Jack says he’s just about awake now. He had a fair few broken bones. We think he hit the water first. You must have been standing very close. Did you push him?”

Will pauses, he has no doubt this will get back to Jack,

“I think we fell. I certainly might have overbalanced. I remember grabbing for him.”

Jimmy nods,

“That makes sense, the footprints suggest there was a struggle at the cliff edge. You know there was a recording?”

Will nods, he knows Dolarhyde set up a small video recorder. He wonders what exactly it did and didn’t capture. Enough apparently for him not to be currently handcuffed to his bed, or for there to be some little doubt about his actions. Jimmy nods back,

“So, you both went over, hit the water, we picked you up. There was a boat, but we got there first and unfortunately they got away. There’s still some debate about if that was some accomplice of Dolarhyde to get him away, or of Lecter’s”

Will gazes at him and tries to keep his expression as open as possible. It must have been Chiyoh! So she’s safe then. All right. Will shuffles that into the back of his mind so that his relief doesn’t show on his face.

“How did you find us? Tracker?”

“Of course. In all the cars. Several in each in actual fact. Jack was taking no chances, with either of you.”

Will yawns, and Jimmy immediately apologises,

“Hey, I can stop. You’re too tired for this Will.”

Will half nods. But he’s learned more useful things in the last five minutes than in the last few weeks. Good for Jimmy he thinks. But he does wonder what they’ve told Hannibal. Or if he’s actually here.

“Maybe you’re right Jimmy. But thanks. I was beginning to lose it. Not knowing.”

Jimmy smiles at him,

“I’ll be off then. Be seeing you Will. And don’t worry about anything. Whatever else it does the FBI takes care of its own.”

He pauses then as if considering all the ways in which this has manifestly been untrue in Will’s case in the past, but he shrugs it off, as though it’s a comforting story he doesn’t want to disbelieve, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Will doesn’t blame him for it. It’s a fairy tale he’d like to believe in too. 

But he makes his own happy endings now.


End file.
